


In Captivity, Trapped

by spirogyra



Category: Pacific Rim (2013)
Genre: Abuse, Body Horror, Dubious Consent, Hannibal is an unrepentant asshole, Hurt/Comfort, Imprisonment, M/M, Transformation
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-09-03
Updated: 2013-12-09
Packaged: 2017-12-25 01:18:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 10
Words: 14,647
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/946913
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spirogyra/pseuds/spirogyra
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Newt doesn't know where he's going, but he think he's found something like home. Too bad it's not like that at all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Newt, Once a Scientist

Instinct led him there, in the darkness and the rain, avoiding people until he arrived at the door. The two humans took one look at him and fled, leaving him to scratch at the door until it opened from within.

He pushed his way inside, into the warm and dry darkness that smelled vaguely familiar, vaguely like home, and stretched his aching toes (fingers?) on the wooden floor. The outside had been rough on his tender skin, unused to the punishment of rocks and concrete.

The humans inside backed away, their fear thick and fragrant in the air. One of them pissed himself, a rancid, acrid smell, a thing born of weakness. They babbled incoherently, panicked and terrified, pointed things at him that didn't concern him. No, this place felt like somewhere he could be safe.

The walls slid open in front of him, catching his attention, making him perk up, almost standing on his hind legs with his tails twitching behind him.

_"What the fuck is going...?"_

Home. It smelled more like home behind the big human. He darted past him, a passing familiarity tickling at his brain. But the smell was impossible to ignore, of things he knew, of a place he belonged, and not in this foreign world.

They screamed, piercing noises that he ignored, and rushed around him as he investigated every corner, every surface, every filled tank. Some he tasted, and found to be pleasing, and drank more of. Others were bitter, and he spit out before moving to the next.

It was only when he'd thoroughly investigated everything and the room was quiet did he pause. The large human was there, watching him silently.

He made a soft keening noise at the sudden pain in his head, and circled the rear of the room restlessly, unsure of what to do. This was a safe place, somehow he knew that, but he didn't know why. How could it be safe among humans?

When the human of the bright colors and shiny adornments approached, he backed himself between two large tanks and felt his poison gland start to swell.

The human crouched, a safe distance away, and began to make soft noises at him. There was no hint of aggression in the human, but with the toxin dripping from his mandible on the floor, he hissed in warning.

The pain was increasing in his head, and his tails trembled as he became unsure of what he should do. Fight or flee, is this his home? Kill the human? And the bright lights half-blinded him even in the shadow, while everything was slightly blurry.

And the human was closer, still crouched, still making soft noises. Noises like those of a _mothercaretaker_.

A scream, something unnatural, from all around him. _Somebody help me!_ He ducked his head, chin on the floor, and tried to curl his tails around himself. Home, this smelled of home, but wasn't. All he wanted was to go home…

***

The lights were low, and most of the humans were gone. It was only the big human, still standing back and watching, and a pair of others stood in the far back eyeing him warily. The little hiding spot he'd tucked himself into and fallen asleep in was gone, the tanks removed, and all replaced with a large fence penning him in.

It wasn't high, barely an obstacle to him, but he didn't move from his spot on the floor. For the moment, he was fine and willing enough to stay where he was until things changed. He stretched, the bioluminescence down his back flaring briefly, until he re-settled with a sigh. When he closed his eyes, he dreamt of home.

***

food

Before his eyes were even fully open, his tongue was out, testing the air. Food had roused him from his sleep, from his red dreams of a place he'd never been but remembered perfectly. The human was there, still there and watching, but this time he had food. He perked up, focussing all his eyes on the human and what was on the floor.

The big silvery thing was still wriggling.

Saliva, aqua in color and stinking of ammonia, dribbled from his mouth as he eyed it.

_"Go on, little fella. Eat up."_

Even though the lights were low, it was open space between himself and the food, so he stayed low to the ground and scuttled forward. Darting back and forth within the confines of the cage, he covered the last few feet with a pounce. Without hesitation, he ripped into the _fish_ and started devouring it while keeping eyes on the human towering above him. He made a noise from the back of his throat, something between a growl of warning to the human and a purr of pleasure from the food.

The human crouched, and the noise turned into a pure growl. Slowly, the food trapped in his jaws, he backed away.

_"There's more where that came from."_

With shelter at his back and all the humans in front of him, he finished off the _fish_ , leaving nothing behind. He was about to get comfortable on the cold, hard surface again when the human pulled out another _fish_ , and tossed it over. It landed with a _*splotch*_ , and he quickly gobbled it down in just two bites. And there was another the human was holding! So he waited for it to be thrown to him, but it didn't happen.

The human just stood there with the food.

Already his toxin glands were swelling, even before the decision to approach was made. He was small compared to all his kindred; he was small, but the potency of the multi-faceted toxin he produced made him mighty. The smell of it alone was enough to incapacitate anything his size or smaller, something he was very proud of. That was why, though cautious, he wasn't afraid of this human, not with the smell of delicious food calling to him.

With all eyes trained on the human, he approached slowly, head down, mouth open. There would be no hesitation; his instincts and sense of self-preservation were strong. If he came under threat, every last living creature in his sight would be reduced to their strange molecular components before he could stop himself (if he wanted to).

_"You really stink, kid."_

The human was wavering slightly on his feet, even as he reached up and swatted the food to the floor.

_"Whatever you're doin', kid, you gotta stop. Jesus."_

He watched with interested, but dispassionate eyes as the human staggered. A weak thing, soft and defenseless even with all their noise. Once more, the glands at either side of his throat subsided. He felt no danger, not after being fed and seeing the weakness of the human. He couldn't destroy buildings, like his kin, but in a densely populated space, he could wreak untold chaos and death.

It sent a pleasurable shiver down his ridged spine, ending with his tails quivering and clicking where they struck the tiled floor.

The human made more noises, not the soft ones of before, so he dismissed them, returned to his safe spot away from them. He was mostly satiated, enough so that he could return to a restful sleep after turning and turning to find a comfortable place on the hard floor.

***

food

It was the same as before, but he reacted with less caution this time, charging forward immediately.

_"How much do you eat, kid? That's a forty pound tuna."_

The hunger in him seemed to never quite be satisfied though. It lessened, enough that food wasn't a lure, but it felt like he would never be completely full. It was why he waited and accepted the next _fish_ that was tossed to him, and the one after that.

The next one was held up, just out of his reach unless he stood on his hind legs. He did so, watching the human carefully as he yanked the _fish_ free, and crammed it in his mouth.

_"I won't hurt you. Come here, kid. I just want to look at you."_

More food was offered, higher and just beyond the barrier. He reached for it, but abruptly jerked back when the human touched him, and hissed.

_"No, no. Be nice to me and I'll be nice to you."_

The food was dropped in front of him, and no further attempt at touching him was made.

***

He learned. Whenever the colorful human showed up, he was up and waiting to receive the food that was always given.

_"Happy to see me, kid?"_

The noises meant nothing to him, though they were soft and inoffensive. The food was all that mattered in this place that smelled sort of like home, now when he was all alone.

The true silence, lack of kin, along with the complete absence of danger was what finally let him allow the human to touch him, though his glands swelled just in case. No, he wouldn't hesitate to kill every single human in his sight.

_"Jesus, it's like armor."_

A warm touch along his shoulder as he was eating.

_"Can you understand me at all?"_

The touch continued, just across his shoulder and over his back.

_"I guess not. You really screwed yourself over, didn't you? I bet you're worth a fortune though."_

The touch grew firmer and passed over his head, blunt nails scratching lightly at the flesh near his ears. A shiver passed through him. Oh, he had no idea something could feel that nice, and trilled in pleasant surprise.

_"You like that, eh?"_

And the act was repeated with similar results. Food was forgotten.


	2. Hannibal Chau, an Opportunist

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hannibal makes plans and executes them.

The little thing seemed docile enough, but some of the workers had started to complain. Their work tables had been set up at the edge of the barrier, and his kaiju had apparently been hissing and threatening them. One night during the off-shift, Hannibal came in with a very large bucket of very smelly fish.

"Hey there, fella," he said pleasantly as the kaiju came right up to the barrier. "I'm gonna have to move you to somewhere less public." He offered a fish, consciously moving slowly even as it was snatched from his hand. Quick movements didn't sit real well with the kaiju. "You're spooking my employees, and you're taking up valuable space on the floor."

Another fish, same procedure, though he hadn't seen the kaiju get defensive (or aggressive) since that first attempt to touch it. No, Hannibal was pretty confident he could handle the thing enough to get it into the confines of his office. "Ready to go for a walk, you little freak?" He jiggled the bucket, making the fish slosh around inside, and sending up that horrid odor again.

That weird trilling, almost a purr. The noise made very strange and not nice thoughts come to the front of Hannibal's brain when he looked at the kaiju. How amusing the man most qualified to study this thing was this thing. Putting all that aside, making sure nobody was in sight, he opened the barrier a foot or so, then slowly backed away, toward his office. With a fish in hand, he coaxed the kaiju out.

"This is what you want, isn't it? Come on."

Crouching low, almost crawling on his belly, the kaiju pushed his way out of the barrier, almost entirely focused on the bucket.

Hannibal walked backwards down the short hallway, very pleased the kaiju was following him steadily if not exactly quickly.

The barrier had been tolerated because it allowed a lot of freedom. Without knowing just how strong this creature was, and assuming it was considerably stronger than the average person, this next step had taken time to execute. It had also let Hannibal build the creature's trust in him, and only him.

Once in the office, he set the bucket down near the wall and backed away. The kaiju hurried forward and started eating the fish as fast as it could. Hannibal quickly and silently shut the door, then got his special project off the shelf. He'd been eaten once by one of these shits and survived; he could manage a little tiny one like this by himself. He approached the kaiju, first from the front, and when it didn't seem bothered by him, he moved to its side. Still no reaction, so to the back, where he hooked and locked the loose end of the chain to a reinforced eyebolt in the wall.

This would either make him very rich or very dead, but that was the chance you took when you were on top of the cutthroat black market. Hannibal stepped over the tails so he was straddling the rear haunches, and advanced until he was standing just behind the shoulder blades. The bucket was close to empty; not much time to do this, and certainly no time to chicken out.

A deep breath and with hands quicker than most people would realize because of their size, he looped the collar around the neck of the kaiju and pulled it tight across the front of the throat. The latch in the back clicked, and he put the lock in place.

Just as he got it shut, he was thrown off, hitting the floor and sliding to rest against his desk. The kaiju was looking at him with something akin to murder in its eyes, and that area on its neck was getting very, very blue. This was the test, and too late he wondered if he'd tried a muzzle if it would have been smarter.

But the collar worked just as he'd hoped. The glands swelled, but the tight collar right across them prevented any of whatever was in them from being expelled. The kaiju just coughed little blue droplets that didn't make it further than a couple feet from its mouth.

When that failed, the beast went fucking crazy trying to get free of the collar and chain. But Hannibal prided himself on his intelligence, and had done all the necessary renovations to assure that the entire building would need to be torn down to be ripped free. It didn't stop the kaiju from trying though, looking like a trapped alligator thrashing and rolling as it tried to free itself.

Casually, because it was all just business, Hannibal stood and sat at the chair behind his desk, and watched. He had a very effective sawed-off under the desk that when aimed at the face, would rip through unprotected eyeballs well enough to kill the kaiju if necessary, so no, he wasn't worried. In fact, he smiled as the thrashing slowed, then finally stopped.

Panting heavily, it remained motionless on the floor, face to the wall.The spots that had been glowing so vividly were dull and dark.

Hannibal laughed in triumph. "You can keep the fish this time. Next time you touch me like that, I'm gonna see how thick that skin really is." It didn't matter if it understood or even listened, just as long as everyone knew Hannibal was firmly in charge of _everything_ under his roof.

***

Three days.

It stayed like that for three days. It didn't eat, didn't piss or shit, didn't make a noise, not even a twitch of a tail for three days. If not for the shallow breathing, Hannibal would have assumed it was dead.

On the third day, annoyed with the development, Hannibal brought up a good twenty pound cod. He set the fish down directly between the kaiju and the wall, so that the tail was touching the jaws of the creature. "Go on, eat something," he said quietly, and dared to pet its head.

That garnered a weak swish of a single tail, but nothing more.

"I'm sorry, kid. It's for your own good. Just go on and eat. That'll make you feel better." That it was for the good of Hannibal's business didn't need to be said aloud.

 

When he returned, several hours later after conducting some business that demanded his personal attention, the cod was just a tail on the floor, though the position of the kaiju hadn't changed. Progress kind of.

"That's better, isn't it?"

Slowly, as if it were a great effort, the kaiju turned over to look up at him, the heavy chain draped over its body. It made a soft whimpering noise.

"Nope, you can look as sad and pathetic as you want, but that is staying on you. Here, have another fish." It was a tiny thing, smaller than Hannibal's hand, and it rested in his large palm just in front of the kaiju. "Come on, take it."

The mandibles opened, split open just like that kaiju that was slowly being picked apart practically outside his front door, and a long blue tongue snaked out. It wrapped around the fish in Hannibal's hand and drew it back into that maw. The mandibles shut, and the fish was gone.

Not surprising that the kaiju didn't look any happier, but that wasn't the concern. It would take time to get that trust back, but since this was just an animal, Hannibal was confident he could do it. He'd broken tougher men before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fast tracked this a little. Decided to title the chapters, since they'll be completely POV oriented. Yes, Hannibal is a dick.
> 
>  
> 
> For random stuff (drop me a line): http://echoisles.tumblr.com/


	3. Hannibal Chau, the Monster

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hannibal Chau: a man with little patience, a poor temper, and just an all-around evil and mean bastard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note the change in rating, warning, and tags. It's not pretty.
> 
> Come and get me. I'm not scared of you: http://echoisles.tumblr.com/

Food. Endless amounts of fish, and head petting. That was it. Those things and time, a shockingly short amount of time, got the kaiju perky again, and ignoring the collar and chain. It even seemed somewhat fond of Hannibal, just like he'd planned.

He was a proud man, proud of what he'd risen to after coming from nothing. Proud of his empire and all he controlled. Proud of his kingdom and its golden shine. Proud of the fear he struck in people. Proud of the loyal army he commanded. Hannibal was a man consumed by pride.

That's why he took the kaiju to his innermost sanctum, secured to the point he needed no guards. No, it was just the two of them, the kaiju crawling low alongside him, head sweeping back and forth, watching sharply for any threat.

Hannibal's pride balked at what he was about to do, snarled like a beast in a cage, but it hadn't been a part of him as long as the man's base nature. And the most base of his nature was his unnatural bend toward the way and things he liked to fuck. This right here, this small and helpless kaiju, it was like God looked through the infinite universe at him and found him worthy of busting a nut every day in the weird, blue hole.

It was weird, he wouldn't deny it. But then nobody would ever have the guts to ask him about it, and he didn't plan on telling anyone. This would stay between himself and his new toy (and that mouth wasn't saying shit).

Cock, like he assumed would be there, no matter how different it was than anything ever found on a human. Sucking little asshole, looked nice and tight. But unexpectedly, a pale blue slit between those two expected elements. The kaiju had a gash too. Bonus.

"Let me tell you how it's gonna be," he said as he ran a hand across the flank that was soft but pebbled with iridescent bits of hardened skin. "You're gonna lay there and be good little fucktoy while I see if you're worth keeping around. You snap or scratch or otherwise threaten me and I will strap you down personally and cut you open."

The kaiju never seemed to gain any understanding of language, but it learned tone of voice, body language, and certainly learned through a few expertly administered physical punishments. That was obviously why it remained docile and just looked at him with a flat, alien gaze.

 _Alien_. So he was really going to fuck an alien. Wow.

He swatted the flank sharply and received a decidedly displeased glare in response, but that was all. But before he stuck his dick in a kaiju, especially one that spit something probably deadly, he needed to be sure it was safe. It would be a decent test to the kaiju's temperament too, its _receptiveness_. His fingers would be easier to live without than his dick.

Getting a firm grip on the tails (they were strong and hurt like a bitch even on an accidental hit), Hannibal held them aside to get free access to his targets. One finger, without hesitation, was pushed past the dark gray sphincter.

The kaiju squirmed in irritation, but otherwise didn't move.

"That's right, you know better, don't ya?" Hannibal squeezed the tail hard, just to make sure it was obvious who was in control. A heavy sigh from the thing was good enough, and he could concentrate on his exploration.

It was a lot warmer than he'd expected, preparing himself for a cooler temperature. Looking more like a lizard, Hannibal fully expected the kaiju to be more like a lizard, but this... Possibly even warmer than a human, and no burning sensation. Adding a second finger got a whine and the click of claws on tile, but he pulled the tail hard to keep the kaiju in place.

"I wasn't kidding about cutting you open. Keep those in check or I'll cut each one off with a pair of scissors and cauterize them with my cigar." He had experience with doing that.

The second proved that there was nothing dangerous about sticking anything into that hole. Maybe the fact that this had been human at one point changed things, transformed the kaiju blue into something more tolerable, but such considerations weren't really in his wheelhouse. As far as Hannibal Chau was concerned, what really mattered was the money he could make off of something and how it made him happy. Most times, money made him happy, so those two things went together really well, but this was a pleasantly unique situation.

Not many things made him happy without the money aspect of it.

Testing the other hole (three fingers sliding easily into a hot, blue-gray oil slick), Hannibal was very happy. He grinned, smelling the fingers that were coated with a thick, shimmering emollient (how much? a grand for a quarter ounce?). It smelled weird, sort of metallic, certainly not quite like anything he could name; it was officially the rarest substance on Earth, and it was all under his control.

Oh yes, he was very happy.

***

A sharp flick of the wrist sent the switch across the (relatively) vulnerable flank. Strong enough to hurt, but not enough to mark the thick hide in any lasting way. The switch was a more effective and precise instrument than either his fists or his foot had proven, and the knife was too damaging. All he wanted was that warning of how much pain he could cause, because that worked where words didn't, no matter what species he was dealing with.

The kaiju yelped, and with a helpful shove of one very expensive shoe, skittered across the floor, out of Hannibal's way as the man paced. When business gave him trouble, it put him in a foul mood. When he was in a foul mood, everyone (and everything) around him suffered. Sometimes, not even money and the potential for money soothed his mood, and so…

"Get out of my God damned way!" He kicked again, planting his gold-tipped shoe directly into the ribcage of his prized possession. A warning, nothing more. The force of the kick didn't even leave a mark on the thick, armor-like skin.

But at least it figured the situation out (finally) and retreated to its spot against the wall, curling around itself, tucking its head underneath its tails. Who knew skin that color could show bruises? There was a clear handprint on the thickest tail, a blue highlight, like a defective photophore.

Maybe, once he had a single minute of free time, when every person in his employee wasn't being singularly retarded, Hannibal would finally be able to fuck some obedience into the little monster.

***

An alien face, but one he could interpret. Hopeful, sometimes, but less and less. Rarely, and fleetingly because he wasn't supposed to see it, he was sure, baleful. Most often, and if he had been that type of man, it would have gotten to him, flat and disinterested. The look of someone (something) that experiences life as a chore and has no expectation that things will change.

The first time Hannibal had caught that sullen, sour look cast at him, just as he'd turned his head, he'd snarled as well as any kaiju, and kicked the thing until his temper had dropped into the tolerable zone. But there were no marks, no bruises, no lasting damage, so what difference did it make?

This was a new-ish one. Hannibal decided to call it "active misery" as he kneeled behind the kaiju on a plush cushion. No way was he bringing the thing on his bed, and the tile was _brutal_ on the knees. He'd seen men bleed after kneeling on the tile for hours as they waited for him to decide their fate. Bleed from the knees anyway; they would have bled on any surface after the execution.

But he'd finally gotten a few days of rest, while his business was finally able to run smoothly without needing any extra influence, without him needing to spend time on the phone, without him needing to get _angry_ over it. Hannibal hated to get angry over business. Business was supposed to be detached, logical, reasonable even.

"No, I'm not mad at ya," he said soothingly, stroking his hand down the back of the kaiju that had whined quietly. "Just hold still and don't make me do something you'll regret. Not that a kaiju feels regret." Hannibal chuckled at his own joke. Sense of humor was never something he'd been known for, even as a kid, but he'd gotten used to everyone laughing at his jokes.

It was a moment of near-existential angst as he stared at the kaiju in front of him. Which first? He'd have both, but _which first?_ A thought occurred to him that if this was a first of its kind, then this was some kind of virgin territory, both literally and figuratively. That clinched his decision. If he were a more concerned man, he might think this was a something more important than just the fulfillment of some sort of sick pleasure. There might be some kind of true scientific discovery in all this, if only he knew who to contact, but Hannibal Chau was not more concerned with anything other than himself.

He opened just the lower half of his robe and pulled his shorts down just enough to release his cock. Until he was sure just how moist this endeavor was going to be, he wasn't changing either his bare skin or any expensive clothing. Bad enough he had to put a silk pillow on the floor.

But that was a minor detail as he grabbed the tail (that same spot, convenient he'd left a near-permanent marking on it from the amount of times he'd done so) with his left hand, his dick in his right (swelling beyond his usual hardness, impressively so), he pulled the kaiju toward him. It had learned finally, and didn't fight as it slid on the tile. A tug upward to get the right elevation of the read end because he sure as hell wasn't going to put that much work into this and search for the right angle, to line himself up, and get just his head in.

Normally he wasn't a man who lied. He didn't need to. He just didn't tell the truth. So to express the feeling as 'no lie, the hottest and silkiest place his dick had ever been (including many very talented professionals)' was a bit pointless. But just that inch and a half of sensation was like the best blowjob he'd ever been given. One experimental thrust, sinking half of himself inside, had the kaiju whining and squirming, trying to pull away. That was simply unacceptable, so with himself seated enough inside, Hannibal took hold of the chain with his right hand, wound it around his fist, and yanked.

A simultaneously hard pull of the tail, and he was completely inside, and quite possibly he'd died and gone to heaven. If he believed in heaven. Or just maybe kaiju pussy was heaven.

That was the rhythm he set for himself, pulling on the chain and tail to drive himself as deeply into the kaiju as possible. The pleasure that blistered along his nerves made it very easy to ignore the choking and whimpering coming from the kaiju, and he held on to the thing tight enough so that its struggles barely registered to him.

When he came (after what felt like hours, but was barely a few minutes), it was with a roar the likes of which hadn't been rung from him since a pro gave him his first Shop Vac at seventeen. He held the position as the last spasms drained him completely, then pulled out and let the kaiju drop to the floor.

"Not bad," Hannibal said breathlessly, and laughed a little as he redressed himself. Other than a pink tinge to his cheeks, nobody would have any idea what he'd just done, and just how amazing it had been. The pillow had even performed admirably, and his knees hadn't suffered at all. That was why he paid a lot of money for pillows. "Maybe I'll get you a bucket of shrimp for that."

He stood, waited for the kaiju to move, to at least get itself out of the middle of the floor, and when it didn't, he planted his bare foot on the base of its spine and shoved it toward the wall.

For now, the trouble it caused him was well worth it.


	4. Hermann Gottlieb, a scientist

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermann Gottlieb is a scientist, but it's gotten away from him this time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another fast track, more of a debriefing than a proper chapter.
> 
> Because hobbitdragon was so concerned...
> 
> Vanessa may or may not end up being a plot point in the future, but the relationship spelled out here is in stone for this story.
> 
> (For random caps, asks, whatever: http://echoisles.tumblr.com/ )

The pain makes Hermann vomit until his stomach is completely empty, and he can only lean over the side of his bunk and dry heave. Not even his accident had left him in this much pain (but then he'd gotten very good painkillers for that). He thinks, at some point, he's pissed himself, but he can't move, can't even care except in a distant clinical way. Complete exhaustion finally claims him, sends him into welcomed darkness.

 

He comes to in the infirmary hooked to all kinds of monitors and tubes. The pain is pushed to a dull throb, but it's not gone. It's there, just waiting for the drugs to fade from his system enough to tear him open once more. Even at this point, moving still hurts, and Hermann remains utterly still while involuntary tears run down his face.

There is a beeping from one of the machines next to his bed, and his miserable consciousness fades, and he is grateful for the respite.

 

His leg, they say, though they don't know what the problem was. They only know that the pain has faded, and no tests they've run have told them anything is wrong with him. So it simply must be his leg, acting up, and they'll run more tests if he wants them to.

Hermann does not.

He returns to work, in the big empty lab that's silent ever since Newton went missing.

_Missing_.

Not fired or changed jobs or quit. The man went missing one night, and nobody's been able to find him.

Hermann calls Vanessa (because they're allowed to do that now that the breach is closed), is comforted by her voice more as a reminder of home than anything. They're not really in love any longer, but she's always happy to hear from him, and he'll be happy to see her in person when he finally gets home. Eventually they'll get divorced, when one of them finds someone else or they suddenly decide they hate one another, but for now, they're still considered husband and wife.

It's after he hangs up with her and goes to bed, he realizes he didn't use his cane.

In the morning, his leg aches, but it's different from the pain he's familiar with. He gets up, removes his pajamas, and, clad only in his boxers, looks at his leg. It's a terrifying sight. What used to be pale and somewhat shriveled is now thick and muscular, beyond normal, and turning a gray-blue. He wants to scream, but to do that and call attention to himself would be to bring all the medical and remaining research staff down upon him. Hermann bites his hand hard to hold back the scream, only whimpers, and sits down hard on his bunk.

He doesn't know why or how it happened to them, but now Hermann knows what's really happened to Newton.


	5. Newt, Existence

The very idea of resistance had been beaten from his body. The faint smell of home teased him as the human yanked once more on his restraint. Being choked had become a familiar sensation. Never welcomed, but familiar to the point he didn't struggle against it. Hardly flinched from the stinging lashes on his legs, just accepted the abuse in his middle, couldn't even summon the will to be angry any longer.

The scent of home teased him as he was beaten, as he was roughly handled and used, as he was left in a smelly heap on the floor for days at a time without food. He started to hate the scent of home.

He hated the scent of the human, the way it clung to his skin. It and home were too tied together. _When_ he escaped, he would go far away from humans and home, back to the ocean maybe, and continue with his lonely existence. No home, no hive, no _others_.

Alone.

_"Get up. That time of the week."_

He was shoved roughly, looked back and recognized the implements. Maybe, hopefully, he would not be used later; this process left him sore and a little raw as the human scraped him in inside. That frigid little thing stuck inside him as far as his body would allow, and _scraped_. But he'd gotten used to it, and didn't react to the pain of it.

Pain was existence. Pain was how he knew he still mattered.

Pain and hate.

Once the pain stopped, once he could no longer summon hatred, he knew it would be the end. Survival instinct demanded he never stop embracing these things, never allow himself to accept "the end", but there was a hidden part of him that knew he'd been human once. It was the tiny voice that sometimes asked while he was asleep if the void of death wouldn't just be better than all this.

But it was also the voice that held hope, measured, intelligent hope. The hope that _the other_ would find him and help him. The hope that _the other_ , the last of his kind, would help him find his true home, and not this prison.

Not alone.

_"You're drying up. Can't have that now."_

He went limp as the tender spot on his tail was grabbed tightly once more, thick fingers digging into what he used to believe was nearly invincible.

_The other_ was the only one that could help him now. In the emptiness that had once been teeming with his kindred--no matter how much pain had been there, they'd been together--he howled with desperation that he'd be heard, heard by the other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The extreme POV shifts make for some very short "chapters", but this is in part because Hermann has some very extensive parts coming up that may end up dominating the rest of this story.
> 
> Come at me, bro! http://echoisles.tumblr.com/


	6. Hermann Gottlieb, a concerned man

He hides. He hides in his room and the lab, leaving only when absolutely necessary and only when it's late in the night. He showers in the dead hours of earliest morning, hoping against hope he can scrub away the _kaiju_ from his skin.

His flesh doesn't come clean. It gets worse.

It creeps down to his knee and up to his hip. His toes turn dusky, but feel perfectly fine. Black tendrils of alien infection swirl under his flesh, across his back where his spine protrudes grotesquely and turns that same gray-blue. His ribs, on both sides of his body, press outward from his flesh, turning his skin an angry purple, and he itches in a way he's never experienced before. One of the last things he notices is a tickle in his throat, but it never progresses beyond a tickle and he manages to ignore it while he concentrates on the two much more frightening effects.

Sprouting almost directly from the ridge of his spine are a series of nubs that grow daily in length and _sensitivity_. These are more than just fleshy growths. As they grow, they… _talk_ to him, not in words, but in feelings and impressions. In taste and sound and smell. And in the dark, he can see the glow that emanates from his back. As they grow in length, because they continue to get longer, until they wrap around his torso and he can see them properly, Hermann knows what they are. They lay flat against his body, smooth and tactile, until he wills them to unfurl like alien flowers, and tells them what to do, where to go. It's terrifying and fascinating, and he worries about Newton.

The other thing… It's a blessing he and Vanessa are not a very sexual couple, barely even what can crudely be called fuckbuddies (and it only took once for her to get pregnant, a really unfortunate mistake), because his genitals have done very strange things. Things that no normal, healthy married couple would be able to sanely deal with. Most likely nothing but the most odd and deviant of people would ever want, and Hermann has no desire for them.

When he noticed the first changes, how dark his skin turned as the hair fell out, he stopped looking down at himself unless absolutely necessary, just waiting out the transformation. It was only marginally less frightening than watching the change take place.

The kaiju flesh (because that's what it is, he can't deny it) on his leg is tough, somewhat scaly, and it's migrating up his back, but has also come around his front to his groin. His testicles are gone, without warning or sensation, and he can only assume they're inside his body now, hidden behind the thick, dark skin that's almost like an armor plating there now. The two plates above it, that act almost like an articulated codpiece, hide a kind of pouch. The pouch itself has no feeling as he's prodded it extensively to try and figure out

_just what the fuck is going on with his body_

and it parts to allow his penis to emerge with ease. If it didn't still remind him (so very vaguely) of something human, he would cry.

The skin is soft, but dark, bordering on black, with a very visible network of luminescent aqua-colored veins running through it. It's longer, which doesn't give him any comfort, because it's still monstrous in the worst way. Both heavier and more pliant, but more responsive, more _controllable_. It's interesting in that way, but decidedly not normal, and he can only look at it in horror and disgust because he doesn't seem to be the one controlling it.

***

His average bodily functions haven't stopped. He's been very carefully documenting these things over the months it takes to get to this point. His fingernails do not fall out; they continue to grow. His hair continues to grow. His eyesight does not get miraculously better (the one thing he wouldn't have minded), and he still has to shave.

Not every day; his facial hair has never grown very quickly. It's only his most recent effort that has him noticing his throat. That tickle that he's become such an expert at ignoring, he suspects it's related to the odd patch of skin at what used to be the hollow of his throat. It's no longer hollow there because there's a small bulge of tender flesh.

He swallows, watches the bulge bob with the action, feels the tickle, but there's no indication of what it might be. Using two fingers, Hermann stretches the skin tight and sees the darker coloring underneath. It's the same color as all the other mutations that are taking him over. There's a faint inkling that if he turns out the light, with the skin pulled tight, it will glow, like quartz under blacklight.

Back in the lab, he roots through Newton's supplies to find one of the largest gauge syringes that won't leave too terrible a mark, then finds the nearest reflective surface. He stretches the skin again and places the tip of needle to the flesh. A single drop of (red) blood rolls down his chest as the tip pierces his skin.

There is no pain.

Beneath that, he feels a resistance. He pushes through it, pulls out the plunger, and watches as the syringe fills with glowing liquid. On withdrawal, there's another single drop of blood, and then nothing. There's no visible puncture wound.

His/Newton's memories of Otachi are very clear, and based on the location, he can take a guess as to what this is. Apparently, his incomplete transformation is what has it stopped as just this mysterious pouch/pocket/gland with no (obvious) delivery method. Everything about his mouth is the same, other than how dry it is whenever he considers his current condition.

A single drop on the metal examination table proves nothing. The liquid does not eat a hole through it. He tries progressively less dense material (that he can find) until he gets to the wood of his cane

_Sorry, old friend, but you're not needed any longer._

and it eats through the polished maple. He knows it will efficiently devour anything softer, including flesh, but he's not keen on testing that out since he is the only subject available.

Now he must monitor the thing in his neck. If it grows or swells and he has to express it, he'll need some way to dispose of the acid within.

And this is all really too much, and how long can he hide it?

What will happen when someone finds out what he's become?

***

_"Vanessa, there's been an accident. I'm releasing all my funds to you. Use them as you see fit, for yourself and the baby. I'm sorry I can't be there, and I do love you."_

***

The kaiju infection is in his brain, Hermann knows this. It's the only way he can possibly be able to understand the new sensory input he receives, and be able to control these new and different appendages. Sometimes he finds himself physically pushing away his sensory feelers from grasping himself, not wanting to understand where the impulses are coming from.

_curiosity, desire to learn, need to know, want_

The shatterdome is silent other than the running water of the shower he's standing under. He's in the stall furthest from the door, leaning against the wall (out of shame, not need from his hip and leg), and those sensory feelers

_they're tentacles, god damn tentacles_

are working him over, and the thing at his groin is responding just like a separate living creature.

But it's him, it's all him, there's no kaiju in his head telling him what to do. And when he comes, it has a faint glow as it slides down the wall and then down the drain. Everything retreats, and he's vaguely something like himself once again.

He needs to find Newton.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since my art skills left me roughly twenty years ago (I used to be decent, really), and I only hobby with graphic editing software (and it's not Photoshop; can't even claim that), I cobbled something together. It's kind of what I picture has happened to Hermann's skeletal structure:
> 
> http://echoisles.tumblr.com/post/60572447346/fic-related-picture
> 
> And for generic random crap: http://echoisles.tumblr.com/


	7. Newt, Hong Kong, Hermann Gottlieb: Choices Made

He was raw, inside and out. They poked and prodded, scraped and scratched, cut and gouged. The other remained distant, unreachable, but tantalizingly _there_ still. Faint, but warm and inviting. Faint, but still stronger than before.

When it was dark and quiet, and there were no eyes on him, he reached out into the silence. It took effort in his weakened state, but he managed to fire off all his latent signals. His spots glowed brightly in the dark room that was his prison on the remote chance his distress could be seen. Under the cover of this darkness, only a dim light coming from the other side of the room that didn't reach his corner, he rubbed against the wall, opening the wounds across his neck where the collar split his skin. His blood left long smears across the expensive wood, and he'd be punished for it, but underneath that, invisible, was his scent.

The whole building smelled of a place he used to call home and himself, but this, in this corner, if the other ever could detect it, was his distress. A small slight received the same punishment as a larger slight, so he did until his neck was bleeding freely, the entire wall the length of his chain covered.

And now the waiting, as he had been.

_...too far gone for his survival instincts to get him to do anything… cold of emptiness seeps in… darkness, no energy… maybe the other will find his body, devour it, take what little strength there's left in him… I'm so sorry, Mom… what is 'sorry'? what is 'Mom'?..._

***

Hermann wakes up in the dead of night. There is something wrong, very wrong. His head is pounding, and the tentacles are going berserk, flailing about wildly. Very slowly, because his skin doesn't fit right and his body doesn't feel like his any longer, he sits up. It takes a few minutes of concentration, but he finally calms the things, and they fold back into place, periodically shivering against him.

But there is something wrong, of that he is very sure. While the usual noises of the slow decay of a giant metal structure are there (he practically falls asleep to them every night), there is nothing else to indicate an immediate problem. No alarms, no yells, no footsteps. There is a problem, but it's not _here_ ; it's somewhere else.

It's Newton. He knows it.

Hurrying is not something he does well. He didn't before, and now it's more difficult because his body has mass he's never had to deal with. His leg's off-balance, his chest is far too large, his shoulders are so wide none of his clothing fits, and his right arm is now longer than his left. Hermann stops himself from feeling too sorry by thinking about what Newton must be going through. _That_ is what gets him moving.

A sweater stretches ridiculously over his shoulders and chest, smothering protesting tentacles. To him, it's soothing, because the material is soft and smells familiar and reminds him of home, and if they _dare_ rip it, he'll be very upset.

With effort, he gets his trousers on. The material is just the safe side of being strained to tearing on his thigh. It looks odd, and he suddenly wishes he hadn't ruined his cane if only to continue the illusion. Not that it matters, since his parka is long enough to cover most of it, and that is something he can't go without. It's the only thing that can possibly hide what a mess he's become.

Hermann zips up the parka, letting people believe it is the parka that is so bulky and not himself, and heads to the lab for a brief moment before he quietly leaves the shatterdome.

***

Hong Kong was a stinking place of too many people, too much pollution, too much humanity. How people continued to live there in all the stench was a mystery, because even when it was less crowded and the rain washed away the worst of the smog, it smelled of rotting kaiju.

Nothing made that go away; it was in the ground, in the streets, in the water. Every single person walked around with the smell of it on their skin, and most didn't know it. They thought they were the safe ones, always wearing their masks, always taking the proper precautions. It was the others, the profiteers and the cultists that got sick, poisoned. Everyone else was safe because of the masks.

One day, a large portion of them would get a very ugly surprise, and die in a mass of foaming lesions that smelled of ammonia, their eyes ringed blue before they collapsed in on themselves, and the blood poured from every orifice. An ugly and painful way to go that if a person made it to the hospital before they were too far advanced, euthanasia was offered as a treatment.

***

His hood is up as he limps along, the rain coming down steadily. He gets odd looks, and at first he thinks they're for his outfit, but then he glances in a shop window and sees his reflection. He has the tell-tale blue ring in one of his eyes made completely obvious by hiding his face within the shadow of the faux fur-lined hood.

It's fine that they avoid him because he can smell, _taste_ the disease in every single one of them. Even under layers of clothing, pinned tightly to his chest, those little tongues take in everything, all six of them.

And Hermann is so consumed by the sensations coming in, he forgets his purpose for a moment, forgets his quest to find Newton, find the source of whatever it was that woke him. He steps off the sidewalk, into a darkened doorway. There aren't many people out at this hour, but they won't fail to notice what he's about to do if he just stands out in the open.

Shifting his shoulders (a strange enough sensation as it is since his shoulders are far wider than they had been, and his right shoulder joint clicks whenever he rolls it), he gets one tentacle to wriggle down the sleeve of the parka, where it peeks out the cuff. Facing a corner so nobody can see his front, he lets it unfurl, holding it close to his chest.

It's not strong, but it's immediate, that scent or taste in the air. It's sharp, reminds him of strong urine after a night of heavy drinking ("Yes, Newton, I have been known to drink overly much before," he adds mentally; that worries him for a brief moment), and it brings up all kinds of images of fear and agony in his head.

The tentacle is quivering, straining to lead him in the right direction, but Hermann tucks it back in his sleeve. _Can't be seen_ is the mantra that runs through his thoughts as he turns and steps back on the sidewalk. Before he can even consider which way to go, his feet begin to carry him.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This seems an odd thing to confess, but it feels like I'm starting to give Newt too much personality. That may be simply because of his limited options of doing pretty much anything given his circumstances though.
> 
> I've been very random today. I regret nothing: http://echoisles.tumblr.com/


	8. Newt, Hannibal, Hermann: Possibility, Hubris, Realization

Cold, refreshing water doused him, waking him abruptly from his sleep. He blinked up at the humans and realized for the first time in his short remembered life, he was clean.

_"You know how much it'll cost to fix all that damage you did?"_ The human stood back, obviously angry, but did nothing. _"I'll just have to start collecting more often. Go on then."_

A small, shaking human stepped forward, holding some kind of implement.

He started to back away, hissing, but his retreat was halted by a hard jerk of the chain and he was dragged back forward.

_"Clean it up. It stinks."_

The human raised the implement, and he shrunk down, thinking he was going to be beat, but instead, the thing scraped across his skin. If he were in better shape, it might be pleasant, a good scratch all over, but here it just opened barely healing wounds. The cold water splashed after felt better than anything, and then he was left alone.

He curled against the wall, and waited. Out in the big room, with all the lights and the humans and the noise, he watched doors open, and humans enter and leave. That was where he wanted to be, going out through there. Even though he was trapped, it felt good to want it, to have the impossible possibility there. In the other, smaller room, there was nothing. A single door that led to more doors and more humans, but this door…

Freedom beyond it.

And the other.

_closer_

***

An insistent tapping brought a scowl to Hannibal Chau's face, making him bare his golden teeth. He glanced at his little kaiju, a habitual thing now to make sure he was always there, tethered to the wall. Asleep, unmoving, unbothered by the workers and commotion in the room.

Compliant. His.

After the mess left behind, he didn't want it out of his sight for even an hour.

But still the tapping. With a growl, Hannibal opened the doors that separated his secret sanctum from the little shop front. "What the _hell_ is going on out here?"

"Where is he?"

Immediately Hannibal frowned at the man. "Gottlieb, right? You're way out of your jurisdiction, like a continent outside."

"Where is he?" the slight scientist in his ridiculous giant coat asked again, unintimidated by Hannibal's thuggish majesty.

If intimidation wasn't going to work, then perhaps the charm would. The man didn't look like he'd know charm if it swallowed him whole, but violence was the last resort for dealing with anyone from the PPDC. "Where's who?"

"Dr. Geiszler. And if you ask me who that is, I shall be very upset."

Something about this encounter was really setting Hannibal on edge, and that was a place he didn't like to be. Especially when a man he could bend in half was the one putting him there. "Now look here, I don't take kindly to uninvited guests knocking on my door and making accusations."

"I made no accusation."

That actually made Hannibal snarl, just a little, breaking his calm facade. Always a calm facade, that was the most important thing, and this skinny little egghead was making him break that rule. He glanced around the man to try and figure out why the boys in the shop had let him get this far. The sight brought him up short, gaping even.

There were several bodies on the floor, and Hannibal finally picked up on the faint smell of vinegar and burnt hair. "And what did you do to them? I know you didn't shoot 'em." Calm facade. But when he looked back at the _intruder_ , he recoiled, his calm facade rapidly losing its integrity.

Gottlieb was wearing a huge, heavy parka, zipped up to his chin. But under it, there was something wriggling madly, unnaturally, _inhuman_.

Hannibal couldn't help but glance back at his prized possession, and was very concerned to see that it was up and staring at the two of them, straining at the tether and collar.

"I did what was necessary. I'll do the same to you if you don't tell me where he is." The man closed his eyes for a moment, tilted his head, and nodded. "I'm only asking as a courtesy. I know he's here. I want you to bring him to me. Now."

Crossing his arms, refusing to budge even in the face of this man, Hannibal shook his head. "Ain't gonna happen. It came to me. It stays here. It's mine now."

" _He_ is not a possession. He needs help." Gottlieb leaned heavily on the aluminum cane in his left hand. "I will take care of him the way he needs to be, not whatever you have planned for him." The weird shivering under his coat increased. " _Using_ him that way. And then, no doubt when you tire of the novelty of-of… _fucking_ him, you'll portion him up just like all the other scraps you've found."

Well, that _had_ been the plan, but he didn't need some uppity douchebag to throw the fact in his face. "Why don't you just turn around and take yourself out of here before I have to hurt you. You may have caught these idiots by surprise, but not me."

The man didn't move. "You'll find I'm not so easily intimidated now."

Now. That was an odd turn of phrase that put Hannibal more on the defensive than he had been, even after seeing the bodies of his men. A noise behind him made him look, and he swore under his breath. The little freak was really going wild back there trying to break free. "Yeah, great," Hannibal grumbled, abandoning all pretense of his calm facade. "Now fuck off." He started to shut the doors.

"You will show him to me!"

The cane was shoved between the doors, but it did nothing to stop their progress until they were shut. Hannibal would gather the rest of his people then go out as a group to get rid of the guy, PPDC or not. That kind of thing couldn't be tolerated, especially the killing of his front men. "Cheung! Tsang! Yiu!"

The sudden splintering of the shelves behind him, sending all their contents crashing to the floor, made Hannibal duck. The entire workroom stilled, staring at the mess, except for the little kaiju. His struggles were violent at this point, clawing at his neck to break free and whining loudly.

Through the shattered remains of the doors, Gottlieb entered, and picked up his cane. "Did you think I wouldn't know he was _right_ here? That I couldn't smell him? _Feel_ him?" Eyes narrowed, Gottlieb looked at Hannibal with such contempt it was almost a physical blow. "Newton! We're leaving! To somewhere safe."

"And I said it's staying here." As Gottlieb turned to look at what was left of Newt Geiszler, Hannibal's hand flashed, from many years of doing something very similar, the butterfly knife coming with wicked fury to life. He drove it forcefully into the rib cage of the skinny man. A lucky hit would mean instant death, while the usual result would leave him very quickly bleeding out. Hannibal had gotten very good at delivering those lucky hits.

But his knife might as well have been trying to pierce granite. It bit into the coat, and then hit a wall beneath. "What the fuck?" Hannibal looked down from his hand, still up against that big coat, to the unimpressed face of the man he had just tried to kill. "You too?"

The cane struck him across the side of the head with the power of a sledgehammer.

_How?_ and blackness.

***

The tentacle dropped the aluminum cane and retreated back into the coat. Hermann's hand clutched the metal canister, waiting for any of the workers to make a move against him. The first one that gave him a dirty look would get sprayed in the face, that was just how angry he was. However, he didn't want to test out his body more than what he knew, especially from bullets, so hurried over to Newton.

"Newton," he said and kneeled in front of him, "do you understand me?"

Whether he understood or not, he was obviously happy to see him. He ducked his head and rubbed it against Hermann's knee as best he could while still chained up.

"You know one of your own, don't you?"

Happy burbling noises came out of Newton's malformed jaws, and the spots along his back glowed brightly.

It was imperative to get out of there immediately. Hermann's hands fumbled with the chain and collar, until he cursed loudly and unzipped his coat. Though there was no bone structure to the tentacles, they were composed entirely of kaiju genetic material, and stronger than he had been able to test yet. So much for his sweater as they tore free. A solid yank by one broke the chain free of the wall, and allowed Newton to pounce on him. "Newton, no, we have to leave."

Was he really doing this? What choice was there?

Three tentacles opened, and their glowing alien tendrils settled across Newton's scaled forehead.

_Newton, we have to go now. You don't belong here._

Newton's thoughts that Hermann received in return were not human, not at all. It was pure animal in there.

_otherawayhomesafeotherawaysafeothersafeawayothersafe_

With despair crushing his chest and tears gathering in his eyes, Hermann ripped away the hideous collar Hannibal had locked on Newton. "Yes, we're going home, Newton." _Follow me, and be careful._

Newton's eyes looked at him steadily as his entire body stilled, even the swishing tails.

_Yes, with me. Away and safe, Newton._ He had no idea where they'd find any kind of true safety, but as long as it was far away from Hannibal Chau, the arctic circle if need be, that was fine with Hermann.

There was some kind of understanding there though, because Newton stepped aside and allowed him to stand. Hermann's mind was already jumping ahead to what he'd do with Newton until they could get somewhere safe together, because he certainly take a kaiju into the shatterdome, no matter who it had once been.

_Who he still is._

The elevator dinged. How else had they gotten this equipment up here? Of course there was an elevator. There was always an elevator, and it was always filled with angry henchman. Newton had rubbed off on him more than the other man would ever know.

The workers that had been oddly paralyzed, frightened into huddling under their desks and tables, began scrambling for the exit. But Newton had already assessed the threat, even as the trio of thugs rushed into the workroom. He stood in front of Hermann, on his back legs, like a man, and hissed. It wasn't the hiss of a snake, or even of a lizard. It was something deep, and sounded wet, like the beginnings of a roar. What a dragon might sound like from young Hermann's story books.

That was when the guns came out, and Hermann didn't have a good idea what to do when they were so far away. He was good up close, he had discovered, but from a distance, his arsenal was sorely lacking.

A single shot rang out that caused Hermann to flinch, but to Newton it was merely an irritation. He hissed again, and spewed a stream of viscous blue fluid at the man that had fired. Screaming immediately, the man fell to the ground and clutched his face. This only lasted seconds before he was still.

Hermann observed (distantly, like from another body) that the man's face had not melted. Newton did not have acid, per se, though the flesh was red and irritated where the fluid had come into contact. Interesting. Until the other two started firing at them.

Newton flinched at the repeated stingings of the bullets as Hermann ducked behind him. Even as he belched blue death at one of the remaining men, Hermann watched the other come around to the side to flank them. A mistake, since that put him in range of the useful canister still in Hermann's hand. With only a look of grim determination, Hermann raised the canister and depressed the button. A stream of pearlescent aquamarine liquid jetted out and struck the man in the face and chest.

The scream was high-pitched for a moment before the acid ate away at his vocal chords.

Satisfied, Hermann put away the canister and looked at Newton. One tentacle stroked the head of his _too complicated to assign simple words to_ to calm him. "Time to go."

But the gurgling of one of the men drew Hermann's attention, and he limped over to him. The man's face was red, covered in welts and open sores. His tongue bulged from his open, frothing mouth, black and diseased. But his eyes looked at them with hatred, and even as he lay slowly dying on the floor, his hand fumbled with his gun.

With only a sad tsk, Hermann brought his right foot down on the man's neck with all the force of his mutated leg. Gore splattered out even as the tile beneath cracked. "I'll have to clean this shoe when we get back," he said idly, as he lifted it and observed the blood and viscera dripping from it. "Not to mention my trousers. I don't know if I can get blood out of wool."

But he was drawn back to the more important situation at hand by Newton curling around him, tails vining up his leg. "Quite right, Newton. We should be going."

As they left, Hermann spared a frown for the prone form of Hannibal Chau, considering briefly doing something similar to the man that had taken such extreme advantage of the lost soul of Newton Geiszler as he'd done to the bastard behind him. But no, he wouldn't, because Hermann was still human, wouldn't relinquish that no matter how deep the kaiju dug into him, how far it hooked into his guts and coursed through his veins. No matter how much it tried to split open his brain.

He was still human, and he'd find a way to make Newton human again too.

With one tentacle wrapped loosely around Newton's hand _hand, not a claw or a talon_ , they stepped out into the damp Hong Kong night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Butterfly knife is, of course, another name for a balisong.
> 
> Going to come a little slower after this since I came up with a new plot sequence to add and have written exactly none of it.
> 
> [Random tumblr stuff](http://echoisles.tumblr.com/)   
> [Fandom tumblr stuff](http://echoislesfandom.tumblr.com/)


	9. Hermann Gottlieb, drifter; Newton Geiszler, kaiju

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermann desperately tries to figure out what to do next.

The other had come finally and saved him. The other had looked human, but was able to speak to him. The other looked human, but was kin.The other looked human, but was familiar deeper than even the silent hivemind.

That was why, even outside where any human might see him, he held tightly to his other and followed without question or doubt. It was why he allowed the big covering to be draped over him

It was soft and warm and smelled of his other.

This… this was agreeable even though he didn't feel safe here. Anyone could look and see, and he didn't care about indiscriminate destruction, he just wanted to be left alone, so he really didn't want to be forced to defend himself. He huddled closer to his other as they walked in shadow, down deserted streets and alleys until they stopped. His other crouched down and spoke to him:

_Wait here. I'll only be a moment. Stay in the coat._

The human language doesn't mean anything, but when his other speaks to him, it comes across as ideas and images and feelings that tell him exactly what the words can't. So he nodded and crouched in a dark corner, letting the warm covering fall around him. Camouflage! Just like a human.

With a last nod, his other walked a little way then entered a doorway. The few moments he was left alone, huddled in the corner, were terrifying. Every human that passed he was prepared to kill, and he kept looking/smelling/tasting/feeling his other in case something happened. However long he'd been held prisoner, he was not going to let that happen again; he was not going to let his other get into trouble.

But there was only a calm, collected feeling that passed between them. His other was not in danger, not in trouble. Everything was fine. And then his other appeared, healthy and safe, and led him to someplace they could hide.

 

It's a flophouse at best; squatter's hole at worst. Neither matters. It's a private room where people didn't question who was staying in them. There is a bed, a dingy bathroom, a door and a window, and privacy, and it's enough.

 

He lay on the bed, on his back, dressed only in his boxers. Newton was on top of him, arms crossed over his chest and head resting on his hands, like a large dog. He was just staring at his face.

All six of Hermann's tentacles, open to their fullest and assaulting him with sensations, the stink and filth and noise, that he hated, lit the entire room with their gossamer glow, and settled over Newton's head.

Newton's tongue flickered out for an instant on the contact, the blue of his mucus membranes different to Hermann's aquamarine. Which one was more otherworldly was under debate still.

All of that nonsense was pushed aside so he could concentrate, find something like the neural drift in the connection. Newton's kaiju surface thoughts were there, easily read, but they told him nothing. They said nothing, just remained completely focused on him.

_otherness_

But he soothed the simple mind for a moment before hunting for the thread that would take him deeper, down into… something that he hoped contained Newton Geiszler. It was rather like trying to get into an overfull closet, and the more effort he exerted, the more his head began to throb. Past the subsumed intellect, all the higher brain functions, further into the unknown functions of the human mind that was just a vast and empty darkness.

_Newton? Are you there?_

The silence was the most disturbing aspect of it all, worse than the physical deformities, worse than his bleak future. Silence from Newton Geiszler was the equivalent of death.

_Answer me, Newton. Are you there? It's Hermann Gottlieb._

A slow, warped bubble of psychic sound emerged from the void. _Hermann?_

Newton's voice, but it sounded drunk. Drunk, but not dying.

_It's me, Newton. Are you still there?_

Suddenly the emotions slammed into him, like an explosion out of nowhere. Fear, fear, fear, so much fear. _Help me. Help me. I don't know where I am. There's nothing. Help me, it's so dark, I can't see or hear or talk. Help me, Hermann._

Hermann took a deep breath and realized he was stroking Newton's back, even as the two stared at each other silently. Newton's weight was nothing, supported on his distorted rib cage, and the rest he very strongly resisted thinking about. _Listen to me, Newton. Listen. Your body has mutated. You are a kaiju now._

A mental sob rang out of the darkness.

_You're safe. I'm with you. I won't let anyone hurt you. Don't... don't disappear into the darkness again. I'll talk to you, every day._

Despair, not that Hermann could blame him at all. _How? How did you find me? Oh no. No, Hermann. I'm sorry. I never wanted any of this._

Brushing mentally away the concern, Hermann shook his head. _It's manageable. I can hide it well enough. Without it, I couldn't have rescued you, or contacted you._

The Newton kaiju laying on him was getting drowsy, his eyes closing frequently and staying that way for longer and longer. _Rescue? What was I doing?_

_You weren't doing anything. You hurt no one. You were being taken advantage of through simple animalistic manipulation._

Newton remained silent for a long time in which his body finally did fall completely asleep. _Is there some way I can see what I look like? Can you beam me a picture or something?_

Hermann concentrated hard, studying the little kaiju in front of him closely. _Can you see?_ The thick skin, transitioning to armor-like plating. The transformed jaw, the mandible of soft cartilage to allow him to spew deadly toxin, and the secondary jaw that allowed him to eat solid food; there were still marks there from the collar pressing into the flesh. The multiple tails, decorated with vibrantly glowing spots even in sleep.

_Wow. I'm awesome and kind of beautiful._

If it were someone besides Newton, Hermann might be able to share in the admiration, but under these circumstances, Newton was an abomination. _I'm sorry I can't be as enthusiastic. Do you have any kind of thoughts on how this happened and how to reverse it?_

Newton's voice was small and distant again. _I don't know. I'll have to think about it. Don't… don't leave me alone._

It was selfish on one hand, because he wanted to be cured as well, but he'd never heard the other man so broken either. _I won't. Every day, I promise, I'll talk to you until we fix this._

The connection faded as Hermann withdrew the delicate threads that he had laid over Newton's head. Almost immediately he was consumed by fatigue, and he wondered briefly if it was a side effect of communicating with Newton, something to do with his new body, or if he was just coming down from the adrenalin rush of his rescue mission. What little it mattered, his mind shunted off to the side to be considered in the morning. He fell asleep to the sounds of Hong Kong outside the open window and Newton sleeping atop him, exhaling breath that smelled faintly of ammonia in his face.

***

The pain still haunts him in his sleep. His leg and hip hadn't been bad, even though he was fully aware both the bone and muscle were now only vaguely human. His arm still bothers him sometimes, and he wonders when it will stop growing. But no, it's the rest of it that he dreams of, somehow pictures it, like the kaiju itself is haunting him.

_A sore back, explained away by sleeping in an awkward position. Shoulders aching, from reaching awkwardly for something and being hunched over for too long in front of a computer. His clavicle… Sometimes the body had phantom pains; not everything was explainable. The burning itch across the skin of his chest, shoulders and back, red splotches appearing first. The discomfort and discoloration escalating to the point he wanted to pull his flesh off to escape it all. Something trying to tear its way out of him, rubbing, scratching against the inside of his skin. He tosses and turns, whimpering and unable to truly sleep as his skin stretches grotesquely._

Hermann wakes up, sweating and gasping for breath. It's a dream, not even a proper nightmare, a recollection of events. It is a thing that happened to him, he tells himself, as he tries to get his wild heartbeat under control. There's nothing to be done about it, and no reason to be disturbed by it.

That is what he tells himself because if he doesn't keep calm and level-headed, who will? Who will help the both of them?

The answer is very clear: nobody. Nobody will have their best interests in mind. Nobody will care about the why and how to cure them, only the what, and cut them to pieces to figure it out.

Really, how could those be the only options available? To be cut apart and studied, or fucked into submission and harvested bit by bit. After all they did, all the work they did, this is their reward.

They need to flee Hong Kong. To where, Hermann's not sure yet, but it must be away from a population center, someplace he can keep Newton safe until this problem is solved. He looks to his side suddenly, because even though _knows_ Newton is there, looking at him is the only thing that will sooth his worry.

Indeed, the kaiju is stretched out next to him on the bed, fast asleep, his sides moving in a long, slow rhythm of deep breaths.

It is a heartbreaking sight.

Hermann's not sure how long he's been asleep. It's still dark out, but the sky is starting to turn gray even behind all the bright lights of the city. Almost morning then. It is quite possibly the most sleep he's gotten in over seven years in a single night.

_A boat_ his mind supplies helpfully. And it's a good suggestion, because there's no way Newton can fly, and a car seems impractical and too easy to track and catch. And boats out of Hong Kong happen every day, going south along the coast (nothing over the ocean), cutting across the South China Sea, south around Singapore, across the Indian Ocean, the horn of Africa, and then an ocean on either side separating them from Hannibal Chau.

A good idea, but the idea of being on a boat for that long feels impossible. Maybe not for him, but for Newton. He would need to be crated and covered to hide him, and that feels overly cruel considering what he's just been pulled out of. But the longer he considers it, the more possible he believes it might be considering he can communicate silently with Newton, and that it's the only realistic option that he comes up with.

Newton rolls over, sighing heavily, but still asleep, pressing his front to Hermann's side. He feels Newton's prodding very clearly against his leg, but as there is no other movement, it is ignored. Simple biological function, nothing is meant by it, there's nothing aggressive about it. It may be a problem in the future, but here there are other things to concern himself with.

Every time he closes his eyes, he can hear them, making it more and more difficult to deny the truth of what's happening to him. _Leave me alone._

Groaning, Newton nuzzles into his neck, and Hermann worries that there's more to what's happening to them than separate incidents.

Idly with his arm that is too long and aches in the night, he strokes Newton's head and soothes him back to restful sleep. One tail slithers around his calf, just enough to know he's there, and clawed fingers dig momentarily into his collarbone. It doesn't hurt, doesn't bleed.

It's slow, but it's advancing. How long does he have before he becomes like Newton?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Caps galore](echoisles.tumblr.com)   
> [my Pac Rim fannish things](echoislesfandom.tumblr.com)


	10. Hermann and Newton: One Another

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What a kaiju wants, Hermann won't let him have.

Not that he hadn't wanted to fall asleep, because Hermann was exhausted, only that he was scared to do so. Losing an amount of time, even for something necessary, was terrifying now. There was no telling what he'd wake up to, either from himself or Newton.

It was impossible to fight though, not with his energy so low and the warmth of Newton curled up against him. It felt like sleep was contagious as Hermann yawned and battled to keep his eyes open.

They needed to get out of Hong Kong first thing, as soon as he could find a boat, but he couldn't very well ftag Newton around the city in the daylight, and Hermann didn't trust leaving him alone. But staying there one second longer than necessary… That was inviting trouble, trouble named Hannibal Chau. For whatever reason he couldn't piece together, Hermann had spared Hannibal's life, something the man surely didn't deserve for the way he'd been treating Newton.

The man deserved a similar treatment, and Hermann would have been happy to provide it if he'd had the place for such an endeavor. Unfortunately, Hermann was missing a torture dungeon on the list of things in his pockets.

Before he could ponder further on all the things he'd like to do to the esteemed Mr. Chau, how odd that desire for revenge made him feel, the battle between… who he'd been and who he was becoming maybe? That conflict between doing what he wanted and what he knew was right, either way, it was starting to consume him, even as his brain finally gave in and forced him away from consciousness.

He just hoped he wouldn't dream.

***

Awareness becomes. It was not there, and now it is. It's different than before, without the voices and thoughts that don't belong. It's frightening.

But his other is there, still next to him, and that provides a measure of comfort. But still strange, because he doesn't hear anything, doesn't feel anything. He whines and nuzzles, and when that produces nothing, he licks.

The licking produces reaction, but not from his other.

_tired_

His elongated and widened nostrils flare as he continues to lick. The taste of human is quickly overridden by something else, something necessary. It's less a taste, now, than a complete sense, a feeling, an instinct in him.

His body tenses, suddenly on the hunt

_for what?_

for that source of whatever it is he has in his mouth and nose and blood and brain.

_His other, the only other._

Again he whines, but the quality is different this time, less plaintive and more _needy_. He starts smelling his other, starting at his furred head, moving down over his body until understanding awakens. Understanding for a brief moment, and then instinct. This is something they were made to do, part of the purpose of their existence.

He smells his other is ready even while he is silent, but something isn't right.

The silence bothers him. He paws at his other, trying to get a reaction. Sluggish movement brings a trill of triumph. A quiet buzz picks up, sending warm feelings up his back and making his spots glow.

The heat that fills him shifts the glow to alert his other that he's ready.

_readywaitingnowready_

***

Incessant whispering impossible to ignore roused him from sleep. There was reaction in his body, deep in the middle of his--no. He refused to think of it; in its own time it would become unavoidable, and then he would deal with it.

Hermann opened his eyes, and it was then that he realized sleep put him into a strange state of _void_ , where nothing existed. That was where it waited for him, grew, until it would be strong enough, when it had eaten enough of him up…

With a sudden growl, overwhelmed by Newton crawling on him, rubbing on him, pawing at him, Hermann shoved him away. "Stop it!"

There was something happy, something eager in Newton's behavior. It was friendly, overly friendly, and pleased, and…

Hermann ran his hands across Newton's shoulders, the glowing spots there. "Why are you purple?" he asked, though naturally he wasn't expecting an answer. The glow responded to all sorts of stimulation, but it was always blue. Purple was something completely new regarding kaiju that definitely needed further study.

At the moment, Newton wasn't about to allow anyone to study him. _readynowready_

"Ready for what?" The thoughts required Hermann only to brush his hand over Newton's head to read they were so prominent and insistent. This was what had woken him.

_my other ready_

It would be helpful to note these details to analyze them and this behavior later, but that would entail Newton not being on top of him for an entire five minutes. Hermann tried to push Newton away again, but this time those curved fingers dug into his shoulders, refusing to be moved.

Honestly, they're claws. It was a fact that couldn't be ignored. This was Newton, Hermann wouldn't forget that, but he had claws, and sharp teeth, and drooled something blue and foul smelling from small pits on the inside of his jaws. And Hermann knew this because Newton's face was right in his, and his alien jaws were opening so he could snake his tongue out and swipe across Hermann's lips.

And while in the back of his mind, the front occupied with fighting off whatever Newton was doing, cataloguing these physical and behavioral changes, Hermann felt the one part of him that he hadn't been able to exert any control over emerging from its protected pouch. That was just the icing on the cake, especially how good it felt as Newton rubbed against it. He cursed under his breath, trying to banish the sensation. His life had been constant multi-tasking and compartmentalizing, but these three disparate things were driving Hermann to the breaking point.

"Newton, stop!" he snapped, pushing hard. If Newton had been in his proper mind, Hermann might have tried hitting him, but like this, it didn't seem like a good idea. His right hand and arm had a much easier time prying loose the claw dug into his shoulder, but Hermann's left had no luck at all.

Unsurprising.

Thankfully he had control over everything except that one rebellious part, and was able to wrangle Newton with his tentacles, though they somehow didn't have their heart in the act and were sluggish. Soon enough, his whole person would revolt against his brain, and then what? The idea of being a prisoner in his own body was terrifying. Even though his father had said such a thing before, Hermann hadn't thought anything more of it than that his father was a despicable person. The idea of being fully aware and completely helpless to do anything about what he was witnessing, the acts he was committing…

Newton whimpered slightly, getting Hermann to pay attention to his physical actions.  He had restrained Newton, but it seemed his fear had caused him to clench too tightly. There was an easily readable look of pain in those alien/familiar eyes, and Hermann immediately loosened his grips, but didn't release Newton. And unfortunately _that_ made him start to wriggle again.

"Newton! Still yourself!" Hermann barked, giving the limbs he was restraining a hard jerk, hoping to make his point. "There will be none of that!"

Something about that, if it was the motion, the words, or the emotion behind them, finally got through to the kaiju. He ducked his head, body becoming still, and tucked his tails around himself. The spots that ran down his back had dimmed considerably, more blue than purple now.

"Now Newton, I'm not angry at you. I just can't do what you want." Though he was very sure his body could, he just wouldn't allow it for as long as he was able to fight it. Tentatively, Hermann let go with his left hand (as if it had been doing anything useful anyway), and pet Newton's head. "I'm not mad, do you hear me? Do you understand?"

The green eyes looked up at him, wide and innocent. He made a low noise, both inquisitive and apologetic _(Herman just knows this)_. The purple had faded completely, and it was only then that Hermann released him. Chirping, like a chipmunk, Newton rolled off onto the bed and exposed his stomach once more.

"I'm not fooled," Hermann said, though he rubbed the paler flesh there anyway. "You're a troublemaker, no matter what mind or body you have."

A troublemaker, but bold and too unconcerned for his own safety. That was why it was up to Hermann to take care of him.

But who was going to take care of him?

_as he got worse and became more kaiju than man_

***

_Newton?_ He waited, fear sitting heavy in his gut that he wouldn't get an answer. _You don't have to speak to me if it's too difficult, but listen. Until I can get us out of Hong Kong, I'd like you to-_

_...Hermann. You sound so far away…_

_Concentrate, Newton. Find my voice because I need your help._ There was a long silence in which Hermann's worry grew exponentially. _A boat_ , Hermann began. _I'll get a boat, a ferry of some sort. I'm sorry, but I'll have to keep you in a crate to not worry the crew. I'll talk to Vanessa again. Maybe we can find some isolated property in Britain. If not, then the US or Canada. No matter what happens, I'll take care of you until you can take care of yourself._

Wishful thinking, that Newton might regain his full humanity, body and mind, but he hoped, really hoped at least his mind would return.

_I don't understand any of this._

Yes, stronger, and Hermann breathed a sigh of relief. _Try, Newton. Think of anything you can. What might have caused this, what we can do to reverse it. Anything._

_I'll try._

It's all that can be asked.

 

Hermann made some calls, mostly to foreign exporters, about transport. It took almost an hour and seven different companies before he was able to find someone willing to carry his "live animal" and himself as far as Singapore. Once there, he'd have to find someone else to continue the journey. Whether it was only to India, or as far as the Seychelles or South Africa, it didn't matter. Every mile outside Hong Kong was an improvement.

The boat would leave the next day, so in the middle of the night, Hermann would have to take Newton to the docks and find some sort of crate to hide him in. Other things, like food, would take second place to securing Newton's safety.

With both fear and nervous hope bubbling in him, Hermann laid down early. He had time for only a few hours sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [screen cap-o-rama](http://echoisles.tumblr.com)   
> [Fan things!](http://echoislesfandom.tumblr.com)

**Author's Note:**

> Take note of those tags. Hannibal is not the fuzzy big daddy that's going around. He's a scummy jerkwad that sees an opportunity to exploit named Newt.
> 
> Transformed Newt is kind of a conglomeration of the various ideas of him that are bouncing around in the rarified air of tumblr.
> 
>  
> 
> On Tumblr: http://echoisles.tumblr.com/  
> Twitter: https://twitter.com/lixyewup


End file.
